Chapter 12: A Gift

Two days before Irene was set to leave for her trip, she mentioned that she needed to go shopping for supplies. My heart leapt at the chance to see her before she left.

Me: Mind if I join? I can help you pick out stuff.

Irene: Sure. Meet me at the mall in an hour.

I barely had time to process her reply before I was scrambling to get ready, throwing on a comfortable outfit and rushing to the bus stop. The thought of spending even a little more time with her before she left made my chest feel warm and light.

The mall was bustling as I arrived, people weaving in and out of stores with their bags and carts. Irene was already waiting for me near the outdoor gear section, her effortless presence making her stand out even in a crowd. She wore a simple hoodie and jeans, her hair tucked behind her ears, and I swear she looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.

“Hey,” she said, flashing a small smile when she spotted me.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, though the sight of her already had my pulse racing.

As we started walking toward the camping aisle, Irene gave me a sideways glance. “So, what’s the deal? Why’d you want to tag along today?”

I hesitated, caught off guard by the direct question. “I mean… I love shopping at the mall,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Thought I might pick up something for myself too.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk teasing. “You like malls? Can’t relate. I hate shopping. I only do it when I absolutely have to, like now.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it sound like a battlefield.”

She shrugged, grabbing a pack of water filters off the shelf. “It kinda is. People everywhere, too many choices, and stuff I don’t need staring me in the face. I’m more of a ‘get in, get out’ type.”

That much was obvious as I watched her navigate the shelves with laser focus, grabbing items with purpose. It was a far cry from my usual style of lingering, browsing through cute stuff, and often walking out with something I didn’t even need.

As we moved further down the aisle, she turned to me again. “What about you? Got any experience with hiking or camping, or are you just here for the shopping vibes?”

I smiled, glad she’d asked. “Actually, yeah. For my biology major, we did field practice trips every now and then — going to remote areas, studying plants, wildlife, ecosystems. Not as hardcore as what you’re doing, I’m sure, but I’ve been on a few camping trips.”

Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. “Oh, that’s cool. So, you’re into plants and stuff? That makes sense.”

“Why does that make sense?” I asked, curious.

She shrugged, her lips curving into a soft smile. “You seem like someone who’d be good at noticing the little things. Like the details that most people overlook.”

My cheeks flushed, and I hoped she didn’t notice. “Well, biology’s my thing. I guess I’m decent at it.”

She nodded, grabbing another item and adding it to her basket. “You’ll have to show me some of your plant knowledge someday. Maybe I’ll actually learn something useful.”

I chuckled nervously, the idea of teaching Irene anything making my stomach flip. “Yeah, sure. Anytime.”

We continued down the aisle, her efficiency mesmerizing me. And again, like on our first date, I found myself just following her around, admiring her beauty, confidence, and this determined side of her that felt like an unstoppable force.

We continued down the aisle, her efficiency mesmerizing me. And again, like on our first date, I found myself just following her around, admiring her beauty, confidence, and this determined side of her that felt like an unstoppable force.

“Do you think I need another set of carabiners?” she asked rethorically, briefly glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Oh, uh… probably?” I stammered, caught off guard. “You can never have too many, right?”

She smirked. “Fair point. The whole world is held by the two things – carabiners and tape.”

Irene paused at a display of compact stoves, holding one up to inspect it. “What kind of stuff did you do on those biology trips? Like, were you identifying plants or tracking animals?”

“A bit of both,” I said, glad to have something to contribute. “Sometimes we’d hike out to pretty remote areas to catalog species—plants, insects, birds. Other times, we’d set up base camp and do observational studies. It was usually a mix of exhaustion and amazement.”

She gave me a thoughtful look. “That sounds awesome, though. I mean, exhausting, sure, but also kinda magical. Like you’re discovering things no one else has seen.”

I nodded, appreciating her understanding. “It can be. There’s something about being out there, away from everything, that’s just… calming. Makes you feel connected, you know?”

She smiled, and for a moment, her usual composed demeanor softened. “Yeah, I get that. It’s part of why I love trips like this. Nature’s just… honest. It doesn’t expect anything from you, and it doesn’t lie.”

The simplicity of her words struck me, and I found myself staring at her, overwhelmed by how much more there was to her than the cool, confident exterior she showed the world.

But Irene didn’t seem to notice my lingering gaze. She was already scanning the next shelf, picking out a lantern and testing its brightness. I trailed behind, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling into a flurry of admiration and longing.

When we finally approached the counters, her eyes caught on a small display of novelty pens. She picked up one—a pastel pink pen with a rounded bunny on top—and turned it over in her hand with a small smirk.

“This is cute,” she said, then held it out to me.

“For me?” I asked, blinking in surprise.

She shrugged, her smirk growing. “Why not? Consider it a souvenir from today.”

I took the pen, my chest tightening with a strange mix of giddiness and disbelief. It was just a pen, but it felt like so much more. “Thanks,” I said softly, but inside, my heart was doing cartwheels.

The rest of the trip blurred into the background as I clung to that silly bunny pen like it was the most precious thing in the world. Every glance at it made me smile, my thoughts bouncing between how thoughtful the gesture was and how it contrasted sharply with memories of Josh.

Josh, who never gave me anything—not even on birthdays or anniversaries. Josh, who sulked if my gifts weren’t “special enough” but never lifted a finger to show he cared. Josh, who had made me feel like affection was a one-way street, where I was always giving, and he was always taking.

And here was Irene, casually handing me something so small yet so meaningful. The warmth of the gesture clung to me, filling the gaps that Josh’s indifference had left behind.

As we walked out of the store, her bag of camping gear slung over her shoulder, I couldn’t stop grinning. The pen might have been nothing to her, but to me, it was a glimpse of something I’d always wanted: someone who gave without expecting anything in return.

The rest of the trip was a blur. I barely registered anything we did after that, too focused on the bunny pen in my hand. I held it tightly the entire way back to her place, sneaking glances at it every few minutes and grinning like an idiot.

Each time I looked at it, warmth spread through me. My heart fluttered as I thought about her confident, easy smile when she handed it to me. It wasn’t just a pen—it was a reminder that someone as dazzling as Irene saw me, thought of me, and cared enough to give me something so unexpectedly sweet. In that moment, I felt like the luckiest person in the world.

When we reached her apartment, Irene looked at me with a raised brow. “You’re quiet today.”

I laughed nervously. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important,” I lied, holding the pen behind my back as if it were some precious treasure.

“Right,” she said, clearly not buying it, but she didn’t press further.

That night, I sat in my room, the bunny pen resting on my desk. It was such a small thing, but to me, it felt like a promise—a tiny piece of Irene to hold onto while she was away.